


The Jolly Rogering of a Grumpy Peter Pan

by LaKoda0518



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bottom John Watson, But I promise I was serious when I started it, Costume Kink, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Disney References, Domestic Johnlock, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Smut, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Humor, John Watson is a Good Boyfriend, John in tights, Johnlock Halloween, M/M, Peter Pan References, Pirate Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes is a Tease, Smut, This feels like crack, Top Sherlock, Yes you read that correctly lol, ass biting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: John leaves it up to Sherlock to choose their costumes for Molly's Halloween party. What he is promised has him thinking thoughts of super spies and secret missions. What he gets is a completely different story, but Sherlock is determined to make it worth his while.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95
Collections: Spooky Johnlock Collection





	The Jolly Rogering of a Grumpy Peter Pan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NitaElwy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitaElwy/gifts).



> Happy Halloween everyone!! Thank you so much for all of your support this year! 2020 has been full of hits and miss (more misses than hits I'm afraid) but I can honestly say one of the highlights is the dear friend I've gained in the amazing NitaElwy. I cannot tell you how lucky I am to have such a friendship, but what I can do is give you all this fun little Halloween collaboration inspired by her brilliant artwork! 
> 
> Link:

_ Fuck… Jesus fucking Christ…  _

The half-arsed, irritated growl I’d mustered up died in my throat as the pads of Sherlock’s fingers pressed insistently into my skin. A low hum, a desperate whimper. Both sounds wrenched themselves from my throat in a chorus of pleasure and I was absolutely aching for him at this point which was far beyond my own better judgement. I couldn't believe the level that I'd allowed myself to stoop to, the audacity of the situation that I'd allowed myself to fall victim to… Especially after the torture, the torment and humiliation he’d practically forced me through. No matter how angry I had been, I couldn’t deny the truth. It felt good to finally have his hands on me, even if I honestly could have killed him at the start of the evening. 

He’d promised me an exciting and intriguing costume idea for Molly’s annual Halloween party - “I’ve got a perfect idea, John! Just you wait! You’ll look fantastic! Classic, sexy even! I promise!”, but what he had presented me with was a far cry from the classy James Bond I’d imagined myself being. Instead of a velvet-trimmed tuxedo, I’d been handed a scrap of ghastly green fabric and, instead of a replica handgun, an unsharpened prop dagger. 

“What the hell is this? And where’s the rest of it?!” I’d shouted, absolutely fuming at the sight of myself in the bedroom mirror. What had he been thinking? Had he even considered the fact that I would have to wear this out in public? “I can’t go to Molly’s like… like _ THIS _ !” Gesturing down at myself, I felt my cheeks heat at the very thought of even stepping out in the bedroom in such a state. The ghastly green tunic stopped just short of the curve of my arse and seemed to hug my body in the most horrific and most inappropriate of ways. Without a doubt, it was definitely the most revealing thing I’d ever worn in my life. 

I’d shaken my head in disbelief, unable to meet my own reflected gaze. 

The open vee of the neckline came down much further than any man my age should have ever been allowed, exposing more of my chest and physique - or lack thereof - than I ever would have considered acceptable. If I was honest with myself, it was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I’d ever worn as well. Worse than that, however, were the even more unbearable dark green tights. 

“Surely, it isn’t all that bad, John,” the detective had answered, coming to stand proudly in the doorway. “I think you look divine if I do say so myself.”

I had rounded on him then, lashing out at him with as much irritation as I could muster and trying hard to ignore the fitted pirate captain’s outfit he’d fitted for himself. As the night progressed, however, that would prove much harder to do. The inevitable “lover’s spat”, if you will, had eventually de-escalated itself a bit by the time we'd needed to leave and I’d tucked what was left of my pride - as well as my, erm…  _ buried treasure _ \- into the absurdly horrid, green tights before setting off on our merry way.

The cab-ride over had been particularly uneventful, thank God, but something still wasn’t quite right. Even with a bit of time to grow accustomed to the ridiculousness of my appearance during our journey, I had to admit that the actual comfort of my newfound undergarments had proven to be much less bearable. 

“You seriously couldn’t find these in a bigger size?” I’d asked, grumbling on the doorstep at Molly's as I tried in vain to free up some space at my groin. Sherlock’s answering smirk was all I would get before Molly had opened the door and whisked us off into a small crowd of her nearest and dearest, introducing us to people neither of us would ever remember come morning. 

As luck would have it, the evening had progressed much like one would have imagined and, after a couple of beers for myself and a glass of wine for Sherlock, I had found myself pressed against the wall in Molly's hallway. Sherlock's thigh had been slotted between my legs and I was fighting the urge to cover the obscene erection threatening to rip straight through the thin fabric of the tights. 

"So gorgeous," Sherlock had murmured, his lips pressed to my ear with a subtle slur. The hand not covered by a costume pirate hook trailed over my hip to slip between my arse and the wall, teasing the nylon-clad skin. "Absolute perfection."

A frustrated huff had left my lips, partly due to the anxiety of being caught out and partly due to my irritation with my own sense of arousal. Only Sherlock could rile me up like that; only Sherlock could make me angry and make me submit all in the same breath. "I'm not sure Captain Hook ever jolly-rogered Peter Pan in Neverland," I had growled out in a gallant attempt to keep some semblance of modesty, earning a rumble of amusement from the hell-bent detective.

"Perhaps not… but isn't that what writerly people like you are for?" 

The jab at my less than poetic blogging skills had taken me by surprise at first but, before I could retort, I’d nearly bitten off my own tongue as the cool metal of the costumed hook had dipped into the waistband of the tights he’d forced me into. "Hey! Watch it; you'll rip them!" 

"Mmm, fond of them now are you?"

More amusement. 

"Oh, fuck off you -"

"Now, now, John…" Sherlock had purred, nuzzling the shell of my ear. "I'm only teasing you. Even I can have a little fun during the festivities…"

The glee in his voice normally would have made my blood boil. He had been enjoying it, riling me up only to put a cap on my temper, and it had taken all of my self-control not to wallop him right then and there, but, of course, my cock had betrayed me just as it usually did. The costumed hook had been withdrawn from my tights and trailed instead down the length of my traitorous bulge. I'd sucked in a breath and cursed inside of my own head in an attempt to hide it but, as one would expect, Sherlock wasn't stupid.

"Let's get you home," he'd said, and that's how I found myself, bare-arsed and writhing, with my face pressed against the refrigerator door and my leaking cock fisted in Sherlock's free hand. The costumed hook had ripped straight through the back of my tights the moment we'd made it into the sitting room, evidence that Sherlock's overzealous libido had spiked, leaving little behind in its wake. 

Kneeling behind me on the kitchen linoleum, his face nuzzled into the curve of my arse and I felt the sharp edge of his teeth graze my backside for what felt like the hundredth time. "Exquisite," he growled, drawing yet another yelp from my lips as he sank his teeth into my arse.

"Sherlock!" I moaned, gripping the door of the refrigerator in order to hold myself upright. It felt like we'd been at this for hours at this point and every ounce of my own resolve was slowly being drained from my body with every pass of his wicked lips. 

His thumb flicked expertly over my slit, distracting me momentarily, smearing the thick and sticky precome over my glans as his name slipped from my mouth once again. "Christ, yes… just like that John. Sing for me. Paint my name on these walls with nothing but the deep and heavy sound of your voice," Sherlock groaned, landing a steady swat to the outer muscle of my thigh. I growled again but the sound was ripped from me and twisted in the air, contorting into an aroused sort of whine as he struck me again. It was both heavenly and hellish what this man could do to me and I was finding it difficult to remember which feeling I was supposed to be focusing on at the given moment. 

"Shhh, your thoughts are far too loud… I need you to relax, John… I've played my tricks so I do believe a treat is in order if I'm to follow proper Halloween etiquette." The tell-tale smirk was evident but I'd already given up. My hands were tied in the metaphorical sense; there was no way in Hell that my body was going to allow me to stay irritated with him at all after such a delightful yet terrifying promise. 

The hand wrapped around my cock pumped slowly at first, starting up a lazy rhythm which soon spiralled into something firm and steady. I panted, I pleaded, I all out begged. I begged for him to finish me, to let me come… to let me get this sodding night over with, to tuck my tail between my legs knowing he's bested me - bested my body - once again, but I should have known better. That wicked little smile wouldn't let me off that easy… 

Sherlock's lips teased over my hip, nipping and marking me as he placed bruising kisses to my battle-weathered skin. The possessive and dominant gleam in his eyes was enough to confirm it. It was a look of pure pleasure that sent every last one of my synapses reeling out of control and I bit down hard on my lower lip. This wasn't going to be like before. This wasn't going to be another one of those nights where Sherlock got me off as he pleasured himself, where we crawled into bed and fell fast asleep. No, tonight was going to turn everything I'd ever claimed to have known about Sherlock Holmes on its head and I was absolutely aching for it. 

The corner of the detective's lips quirked up into a devilish little grin and I closed my eyes. He knew the power he held over me and I'd be damned if I was going to give him the pleasure of hearing me say it out loud. If he wanted that, he'd have to work for it…

A moment of silence; a puff of breath that ghosted over my skin followed by the gentle scrape of teeth over the head of my cock drew every ounce of tension in my body to the very surface of my skin. I gasped, whether I meant to or not, and I could almost feel the detective's satisfaction as it electrified the air between us. His lips teased the edge of my foreskin, pulling it between his teeth and nipping it with a subtle harshness that nearly drove me mad. 

Fisting my hands in his dark chocolate curls, I whimpered loudly. The sound echoed in the silence of the kitchen and triggered a menacing chuckle the likes of which I would remember for the rest of my life. "Happy Halloween, Dr. Watson…" he growled dangerously, sending a shiver down my spine. Sherlock Holmes had me. He had me more desperate and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen before and he was going to relish it… 


End file.
